Surreptitious
by Sinematic
Summary: "And there they sat in the unrelenting sun and dust, their toes in the sparkling water and their fingers interlaced, no longer separated by the walls of society." A story about blackmail, lust, power, revenge, overcoming social status, escaping bandits and mercenaries, the value of family, and all those westerny things


**So this story is for PlayForKeeps, a brilliant writer and a good friend, because we came up with this pairing together. Tierra is an awesome pairing because both people involved have their fair share of mental issues. However, those issues will hardly be touched on for this story because this was just a random, stupid idea to keep my creativity up and it's less about the internal struggle and more about what's going on. Umm characters to look forward to: Alejandro, Duncan, Harold, Chef**

**Thank you SO much for reading, and I love you all!**

...

Surreptitious: adj: kept secret, esp. because it would not be approved of

...

Sierra stared wistfully through her window, opaque from age, her chin resting on her curled palm. The town never changed; old, weathering wooden buildings stood side by side and tumble weeds rolled lazily through the horse excrement laden streets. The heat was overbearing, but her personal attendant sat loyally by her side, steadily waving a plush, white feather fan.

"Miz Sierra? You are aware that your father requested your presence downstairs?" her attendant asked with a slight southern drawl.

Sierra sighed heavily, a sour look of rumination occupying her usually sunny face, "Yes, I am aware. He wants to discus the arrangement he's made with Mister Cody."

Sierra stood up and adjusted her pale pink gown, letting her full skirt swish against the dusty wooden floors. Her matching pearlescent earrings and necklace tinkled softly under her dark braided hair, and illuminated against her swarthy, flushed skin. With her attendant close behind, Sierra slowly made her way down the creaking stairs to her father's study. Bronzed sconces studded the dilapidated walls, and there was a musty, molding scent in the air.

"Father?" the door creaked open, "You wanted to see me?"

Chris McLean smiled warmly at his daughter, "Sierra! I have good news. Mister Cody wants you to go visit his mansion tomorrow!"

Chris McLean was a handsome, dark haired businessman. His wife had died during his daughter's childbirth, so Sierra was the only important person in his life, though he sometimes forgot this fact as if his business was all that mattered.

She pouted, "Yeah, here's the thing, father. I don't want to go."

He pounded his fist on his large maple desk, shaking the oil lamp, "You don't have a choice! Our oil well has gone dry, and you know our money won't last long!"

"But father," she protested feebly, "We have plenty of money! I don't think we'll run out that-"

"You don't understand!" he shouted, his face reddening with anger. Sierra's eyes grew wide, shrinking under her father's unexpected rage.

He rubbed his face, "Sierra, I'm sorry. But things," he inconspicuously pushed a black envelope under another stack of papers, "have changed. If you marry Cody, we'll be rich again. Which is good. Maybe I can borrow money to keep mining!"

Sierra frowned, but bowed her head in consent, "As you wish, Mister McLean."

He looked apologetic, but said flatly; "Your driver will take you into town to gather supplies. And don't be cheap! People can't know we're in the poor house, or we're finished."

...

He stood happily in the burning sun, carefully brushing the mane of the McLean horse, Yeti. A simple black cowboy hat shaded his face, the one that lighted up like a forest fire when he saw her walking down the pathway to her carriage. He quickly snubbed out his excitement and greeted her with an emotionless nod.

"Mister Trent, take me to town," Sierra said brusquely as he opened the door for her, all of his fiery exhilaration welling up into a single nanosecond of eye contact.

Once she was inside, she stole as many looks as she could of her driver past the gauzy curtains. The sleeves of his dark blue button-up shirt were rolled past his elbows. She noted a sweaty curl of dark hair stuck to his neck. A perfect little curl.

...

"Miss Sierra?" he called from outside the cab over the loud clomp of horse hooves, "We're almost to DJ's."

"Thank you... Mister Trent." she replied coolly, but inside her stomach was fluttering. She spoke up, "Chris is sending me to Cody's tomorrow."

Trent paused, but eventually he replied, "I kind of figured," his voice sounded strained, "I'll get you there."

Sierra ignored the lump that developed in her throat when he uttered those ugly words. He'd said those same words only a few weeks earlier when he was shot by a stray bullet on the way to a town meeting. "I'll get you there, sir." He'd told her father, who only seemed angry at the inconvenience. Of course she'd screamed and sobbed until Chris relented and took him to the town doctor. It was all such a blur. She'd never forget the way he'd looked at her when she'd held him in the dirt, holding his bloody shoulder with her lacy white shawl. Trent couldn't conceal whatever he'd been hiding, and she saw through his leaf green eyes that secretive little corner of his mind he'd tried so hard to bury, filled with lovelorn ideas and melancholy fantasies and reflections of herself.

...

Sierra milled around DJ's store, tightening her grip on her wire basket handle when a melodic tune floated through the open door.

DJ chuckled, "He never puts that thing down, does he?" He was talking about Trent's guitar.

Sierra clucked dismissingly, shoving a soft white bag into her basket amongst tiny purple bottles and random pieces of cloth.

"You're going to Mister Cody's, huh," DJ mentioned, wiping down the wooden counter.

Sierra smiled morosely, "Yeah, tomorrow."

"He seems like an okay guy!" DJ grinned, taking a wagon wheel from a shelf and setting it on the newly dusted counter.

"I guess," Sierra sighed, looking out the cloudy window towards the source of the music. DJ noticed.

He raised an eyebrow slyly, "You know... I hear Trent's an okay guy too."

Sierra glared icily at her friend, "Just ring these up."

DJ frowned, but tossed a carrot on top of her basket, "For Yeti."

But as the music lulled through the cracked siding into the dull, crowded store, she couldn't help but let her thoughts stray to the forbidden world where DJ might be right.

...


End file.
